


Crack Me Open Like A Chestnut

by Arej



Series: Ineffable Advent 2019 [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic nonsense, Established Relationship, M/M, Other, and crowley is very much a fan, and post-fade to black implications, aziraphale is stronger than he thinks, rated for some suggestive behavior, they're not really male but it's m/m since i used male pronouns throughout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arej/pseuds/Arej
Summary: Day 9 for the incredible advent calendar of prompts.There are reasons Aziraphale was set to guard the Eastern Gate - and Crowley very much appreciates at least one of them.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Advent 2019 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561027
Comments: 29
Kudos: 228





	Crack Me Open Like A Chestnut

_Crack._

_Cr-ack._

Crowley glances up from his phone, tilts his head. Listens.

_Crack!_

Aziraphale had bustled off to make tea about five minutes prior, but there’s nothing about tea that should be making that sort of noise. It’s an earthy sound, almost…

_Crack._

…wooden?

Curious, Crowley surges from the sofa, saunters across the back room to lean against the doorway of the one time broom closet Aziraphale has long since repurposed as a tea closet.

_Crack!_

“Whatcha got there, angel?”

“Just some nuts, dear,” Aziraphale replies absently.

_Cr-ack._

Crowley abandons the lean - some of his better work, that, but worthless if the angel won’t even look - to hover over Aziraphale’s shoulder, instead. He eyes the bowl of water on the tiny counter, where a dozen or so cracked nuts are already soaking.

Stares.

“Are those -”

_Crack!_

“- _chestnuts_?”

“Hmm? Oh. I - yes. I thought it might be rather festive. Thought we could roast them over the fire, perhaps, like that lovely song from earlier? It is the holidays, after all.” He blushes.

Aziraphale is blushing, but Crowley is too distracted to notice. There’s a rather more pressing thought taking up space in his head.

Chestnuts are, Crowley knows, a tough nut to crack (pun intended). So much so that humans, clever things they are, have knives specifically made for this sort of thing. He should know - the seeming explosion of highly specialized, single-use kitchen gadgets was one of his, had earned him a commendation, albeit a small one - but chestnut knives had already been around before he got involved. And even before _that_ , humans had been using regular knives, or some other sharp object, or even a heavy book, not -

“Are you cracking chestnuts _bare-handed_?”

“…Yes?”

Crowley’s focus shifts, finally, from the soaking chestnuts to Aziraphale’s face. The angel’s blush has been joined by bafflement, and Crowley is nearly done in.

“You - with your hands?”

“Yes…?” Confusion is winning out over the embarrassment, now - confusion, and some small kernel of amusement. Aziraphale takes another unblemished chestnut from the counter, holds it between two fingers, and twists in a snap-like motion.

_Crack!_

Crowley stares.

“I’m certain you’ve seen that before,” Aziraphale muses, dropping the cracked chestnut into the water to soak with the others. There is laughter curling at the edges of his vowels. “Humans have been eating chestnuts for centuries.”

“Humans can’t miracle chestnuts open,” Crowley counters, and Aziraphale tuts at him.

“I’m not using a miracle, my dear.”

Crowley’s lantern-yellow eyes flick to the nut Aziraphale has taken in hand - _crack!_ \- then back to the angel’s face. Blush and bafflement have now both melted fully into amusement.

“They’ve got to open them somehow,” the angel offers, taking up another nut. “Surely you’ve seen it.”

“Knives,” he manages, oddly enthralled as the chestnut gives way between Aziraphale’s fingers. _Crack._ “Special - special chestnut knives, or a hammer, not…”

“It’s so little work,” Aziraphale muses. “A knife seems…unnecessary.”

“You’ve _got_ to be miracling without realizing, angel, look.” Crowley, desperate, snatches up a chestnut, clenches it in his hand and squeezes until his fingers are bone-white with pressure, careful to keep only to human strength, and not an ounce more. “See?”

“Well, you’re not - here -” Aziraphale spreads Crowley’s clenched fist open as if unfolding paper, he manipulates the digits so easily. Crowley, who had neither expected the act nor loosened his grip to accommodate it, feels his knees go wobbly.

“There’s a trick to it,” the angel is muttering, folding Crowley’s fingers just so. “Just - yes, like that, and then -”

He squeezes his fingers around Crowley’s, and the chestnut obligingly _crack!_ s.

Something in Crowley cracks, too.

“Angel.”

It comes out breathless, nearly silent. Aziraphale looks up, takes in Crowley’s stunned face and wide eyes, the flush on the high points of his cheekbones, his gently parted lips. “Yes?”

“Show me again?”

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Aziraphale plucks the cracked chestnut from his nerveless fingers, deposits it with the others. Slips a whole chestnut into the space he’s made between demonic digits. Closes his own hand around it, there -

_Crack._

It would be impossible, from this close, to miss the flare of Crowley’s pupils, the sudden loss of sclera, even if the demon weren’t suddenly crowding Aziraphale back against the counter. Their hands, tangled around the chestnut, wind up pinned between them as Crowley presses in close, closer -

Crowley’s mouth is hot, and wet, and desperate, and the way he moans when Aziraphale plunges his free hand into silken soft fire and _pulls_ borders on divine.

“Ah, _fuck_ , Aziraphale.” He gasps as the angel scalds a trail of kisses along the long, exposed column of his neck. “You - you’ve been being - _oh_ \- gentle with me, haven’t you?”

Aziraphale wraps his lips around that spot where Crowley’s pulse thunders, drags his tongue over it. Murmurs his answer into burning skin. “You deserve gentleness.”

When Crowley gurgles, an abortive, argumentative sound, Aziraphale sets teeth to skin instead. He turns them, pivots just as Crowley’s knees buckle, angles them so that it’s _Crowley’s_ back to the now sloshing bowl of water, _Crowley_ pinned against the counter.

They’re pressed so close together he can _feel_ Crowley’s reaction to this sudden reversal, and _oh_ , that’s lovely.

“Don’t - don’t be gentle. ’Mnot fr- _ah_ \- fragile.” The demon’s voice is low, breathy, wanting.

_Ruined._

Aziraphale pulls back, just enough to look, to study the perfect impression of his teeth there in his lover’s skin, bone-white and slowly flooding with red. “Crowley…”

“’Mnot going to break.”

Their tangled hands flex, once, Crowley’s fingers forcing Aziraphale’s apart and away, creating a void between them. The chestnut - now rather ground to paste - hits the floor, unnoticed.

Hot blue meets molten gold.

“If you’re certain…” Newly freed fingers creep under Crowley’s shirt, press into the hot flesh there. The demon shudders. “If you’re truly certain -”

“I can take it, angel.”

Aziraphale considers, then presses forward; uses his considerable strength not just to pin Crowley in place but actually squeeze him between angel and counter until either counter or demon are forced to give way -

\- and Crowley pushes back. Not enough to budge Aziraphale, but enough to stop the inexorable press of his hips, hold them in detente. The fire raging under Crowley’s skin slips its bonds and floods across, catches there in the kindling of the angel’s bones. 

His fingers clench in Crowley’s waistband; he can feel taut muscles flutter against his fingers. Still, he hesitates.

“Please,” Crowley whispers, and Aziraphale can’t help but moan at the sheer _need_ in Crowley’s voice.

Roasting chestnuts will have to wait.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Crack Me Open Like A Chestnut](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22302664) by [ExMarks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExMarks/pseuds/ExMarks)




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